


I Get High and I Can't Hide

by Sweet_Bourbon_Daddy_uwu (JaqcuesGuillory)



Category: Bob Dylan (Musician), The Beatles (Band)
Genre: First Time, Gangbang, M/M, Orgy, why are they so gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18742039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqcuesGuillory/pseuds/Sweet_Bourbon_Daddy_uwu
Summary: He let his knickers down.Takes place during 1964, when Bob meets the Beatles and gets them stoned. As we all know, weed makes you a h o r n d o g, and wine makes you do funny things. I feel like the tages make things... well, Bob has been a naughty girl, he let his knickers down.





	I Get High and I Can't Hide

**Author's Note:**

> -Okay, so there ya go. This is the first part of my utterly garbage fanfic for the Beatles. More to cum soon, but I think I'll give Bobby a little break. Cause frankly this is the third fucking I've written in just as many days. I don't know if he can survive all these D I C K S I'm throwin' at him. 
> 
> Sorry it sucks, guys. I haven't written in a while and I'm half drunk when I write these, or stoned and unfortunately I don't produce good stuff like Bobby does when I am, so this is what I've got to give ya. Oh, GAWD it sucks so much. This isn't just hot garbage, this is McDonald's dumpster floating on a shuttle toward the sun. Many apologies you have to read this filfthy filth.

I couldn't get the image of home out of my head. Sitting here, surrounded by these English cats, all talkin' in their voices. It sounded like a bunch of chatter to me nothin' I could really make sense of, really. George was going on about something that happened to him with a fan the other day, Ringo was cackling about something John said to him and kept repeating over and over. "Oh, Ringo, oh Ringo don't be such a bother! You're gonna go mad, Ringo!" somethin' like that. These cats were mad. They were already mad.

 

"Hey, hey-" I waved my hand awkwardly at one of the guys standing around not doin' anything. If he was gonna be here, you know, let him be useful. "What's your name again, man?"

The man tightened his lips and shrugged. "Mal."

I nodded but I wasn't really paying attention. "Can you... Can you go get some, wine, man? I need some wine. It's really- I need some wine." I slurred my words a little. I wasn't drunk yet, but I wanted to be. My mouth felt dry and my head was swimming. Ever since I been here I been homesick or just sick in general. I can't make sense of nothin' here.

"Sure thing, Bobby." I didn't hear him, though.

 

I watched as George was roughhousing with Paul like a couple of kids on the bed, rubbing his fist rapidly in his hair, shaking straight hair this way and that. I laughed a bit dryly as they got on. Johm came over and sat beside me on the floor and pointed at them. He said something but I didn't understand him. His accent was just too thick there and I wished he'd just speak American to me. I know he could if he really wanted to. I muttered something about how they looked like children and he just smiled and nodded complacently.

"Oh yeah, they'll do that. We're all just a bunch of groovy children, aren't we?"

I chuckled a little, my cheeks crinkling in a smile. George divebombed himself onto the bed where Paul escaped only in the confusion, wrapped himself around Ringo in a chokehold while they both howled and yelled incomprehensible gibes at each other. Ringo wriggled around like an inchworm in a cat's paw until he squirmed too close to the edge of the bed. George shouted some gasp of warning and flailed with one arm stretched down to prevent them both falling flat on their faces, but didn't release either of themselves from the confining lock. They tumbled down toward John and I, nearly landing in our laps. I watched on cooly, just moved my legs out of the way and flashed a smile.

 

As the two boys' faces won expressive olympics, battered with grimacing pain and youthful amusement, that cat Mal brought in a bottle of wine and a couple glasses for me.

"Hey, Bobby..." A voice from above me to my right dragged my attention away from me as I starting pouring the wine into a glass for me and John, who eyes went between the bottle and the boys. As I nodded at Epstein, the guy who called out to me, John took the bottle from between my crossed legs and poured it into the glasses in my hands, warning me not to spill as I flicked my hand around carelessly. "What's that?"

"What's what, man? There's lots of stuff." I laughed, shoulders bobbing a little as I ran my free hand through my curls. A cigarette rolled out from behind my ear, half caught in my hair. "Oh, this? Oh, you know what it is, man. Hey, hey guys. You guys, you want to smoke?"

Ringo perked up from where he was now seated on the bed, George laying on his back and panting from the exersion beside him. "What's that, Bobby?"

"I said, you guys wanna smoke?"

"I don't think I have any cigarettes, man."

I chuckled. "It's not... we can share it. I don't have cooties. you have cooties? You gonna get me sick, huh?" I'd been feeling a little sick since I got here anyway. I put it between my lips and held my hand up to Brian. He looked uncertain as he lit a match for me and held it down. I leaned into his offer and puffed, pulling the smoke and heat through the end of the rolled up paper, all the way to the back of my tightening throat. "Hey, thanks man." I took a long drag from it, leaning my head back, let the taste roll through my mouth like a fog of burning, earthy leaves.

I took another hit before I held it out into the room. The three exchanged glances before Ringo leaned forward with a gleeful expression and accepted it. He took a long draw and I saw his eyes widened before his cheeks turned red and his brow moved in on his nose. He took a deep breath of fresh air before his lungs gave out and he gave a rupturing cough, ribs caving in as he buckled over his knees. He slapped his hand against his knee as he struggled to get air back in, while all but shoving the thing into Paul's hands. He took it with a nearly fearful expression and glanced between John and myself. I tried not to laugh too much as I sipped my wine, the deep flavour combinations and arid wetness more suitable to me than dry conversation.

"Hey, Bobby..." Brian started up again just the same as before while Paul put a shaky hand to his lip and inhaled. He, too, began into coughing but had a more casually pleased look spread across his face in between gasps. He took another breath through it as soon as he could. "I don't think they've ever smoked this stuff before."

"What, grass?" I asked. "They've smoked grass, man, come on. They're cool cats, John here says they're, you know, they're groovy. Look at 'em. They've smoked. They know it, man." I laughed at him, a little abrasively, I could tell. I don't think he liked my outright refusual to listen to him or the mockery I so easily left him with.

"Grass?"John raised an eyebrow at me and straightened out his pants with a look of confused discomfort. Ringo took back the joint from Paul's hands, playfully arguing with George who had sat up now only to be offended he'd be skipped over and left out of the new, promiscuous fun. Ringo took another long haul of it before George pushed his shoulder against him and stole it from his girp.

"Yeah, you know- weed, marijuana, the green stuff, the joint, man. The grass."

"We don't smoke, Bobby." John said, a grin on his lips as he shook his head.

"What?" I laughed. "You're putting me on, man. Hey, come on, don't do that." I looked between him and the others. Paul's puppy dog stare looked eager and earnest as he too shook his head. George only laughed and said, "This stuff's great!"

I frowned and gave another hearty laugh. "You've got that song, 'I get high, I get high...' How can you write about stuff you don't even do?" I put my hands up before dropping them to my lap.

John looked to George. "You mean, 'I can't hide?' We never said we... We haven't gotten high, Bobby!"

I wrinkled my forehead as my brow tried to run into my hair to hide from the embarassment of being wong, and raised my hands in surrendering defeat. "I don't know what to tell you." I licked my lips and my thin lips widened. It isn't my fault, then. Someone should've told me before I brought it in if they didn't want them smoking. Makes things more interesting. Maybe I'll know what to say to 'em, then, when they've gone from groovy kids to bad boys.

The joint passed around between us a few more times as I showed them the etiquette of smoking with people. They were calling them hippie circles for a reason. Ringo kept it for himself most of the time until someone protested. I didn't care. I let 'em have that one. I had another tucked into my shirt pocket anyway, and lit it up while Brian confided in me that he didn't think it was too good an idea of mine. I told him to fuck off, politely. He just bumped his shoulders and left me to it, standing next to that guy, Mel, and carrying on about whatever boring shit they ever talked about. Tour dates or something. Who cares?

 

Ringo had a dazed look as he stared at the shortening joint in his fingers. His eyes looked lidded and tired, while his cheeks still burned red. He had the look of a man who expected all the answers of the universe to come to him in some mystical epiphany, a sudden divulgence of global knowledge. Paul had wondered off, going back and forth from the living room to the bedroom of the suite, going all up and down while spouting random deliverences of clarity to Mel, who now held a pen and paper and was trying to write as fast as he could everything Paul was saying. He gave me a desperate look as he scribbled and mouthed, 'Pauls' gone mad' to me.

"Do you have to...Do you have to record your songs a bunch?" Ringo looked at me intently. "Dylan? Dylan, do you have to record your songs a bunch? When you record them?"

I looked up with glassy eyes and blinked slowly, joint burning slowly in my hand. I'd dazed off into my head too much. I took another overachieving swallow of wine before John refilled it for with a meaningless chuckle, and another long drag, eyes narrowoing a litle before I let the smoke filter out of my nose and lips as I spoke. "What?"

"Do you have to record your songs a bunch when you-"

"No, I get it right on the first try. Every time." I looked away and tapped the ash off with he edge fo my shoe, staring at it for a moment, trying to find some poetry in it. 

"I wish there were some chicks here." George muttered, in a quiet voice that seemed ever still and cool as usual, but tighter and dropped lower. Wasn't he supposed to be the mysterious, coy one of the four? They all seemed goofy to me, but they were pretty cool. Pretty wild.

"Oh, we have to do ours a bunch." He said in a small voice, leaning back on his hands on the bed. John took the joint back from him and nodded in an odd, full bodied way, going half sideways with it like he disagreed.

"Well, not that much." He said, watching Paul whirl back on Mel and describe some scene to the man with the frantic pen.

"Why do you have to? Why don't you just do it right on the first take?" I stood up on my knees and moved to the bed, sitting down beside Ringo where George had been a moment earlier. I took a generous pull through it, feeding it up my nose before I passed it to him. Ringo asked me about the neat trick I'd pulled and eagerly, excitedly demanded I showed him. I figured with a nose like that he might suck up the whole joint. I was getting a kick out of his love for this stuff. I knew I was being a little sore. I was trying to provoke a rise out of them. I could feel the unique rise of tension form inside people when I said stuff like that. I lived for it. Couldn't get enough of it even when it was made obvious that they had.

 

John piped up louder than Ringo, who tried to retort in some shallow mumble. "Well, maybe we would if we were as perfect as you, Bobby."

I felt my cheeks pull up into a broad, toothy flash from behind my hand. Never did like showin' my teeth. "You think I'm perfect, John, do you? Do you think I'm pretty, too?"

"Oh, you're just lovely, Bob." His voice was slow but it dripped venomously with sarcasm through a glib yet cheerful face.

Paul and George had come back into the room to join us now, finally giving Mel a break to head out of the bedroom to join Brian. I waved my hand to them both with a flick of my wrist toward the door. Brian pulled Mel out of the hotel room with a certain feeling of educated, learned behaviour. I must kick him out pretty often, but usually only when I have a girl around. I was tired of having them here, hanging over me all the time like I was a kid. They weren't bringing me down, but I can't stand having so many people around all the time, all talking at once.

 

George and Paul had come in at exactly that moment, I guess. Both of them, neither one with an idea of what was going on, "Oh, Bobby, you're just lovely!", "Just gorgeous, Bobby!" John again laughing at me, "You're a pretty lady, Bob" and Ringo from beside me, just putting me on like the rest of them, Take your clothes off, Bobby, you're good neough to sleep with-"

I nearly snapped my neck to look at him. He had a scorched hot face as his skin flushed from pale white straight to tomato sauce."Good enough to-" I broke out into a boisterous, shaking laugh.

George joined me, though he repeated Ringo's line to his embarassment. "Good enough to sleep with, Bobby. For Christ's sake, Ringo!"

"Do you- Do you want to fuck me? Huh, George?" I elbowed Ringo beside me who just fell back on the bed and shook his head. "Is that it, Ringo? You want me to take all my clothes off for you, huh? Get naked for you, huh?"

George laughed heartily, head tossed back as he took the joint from Ringo's fingers and shook his fist in his hair like they'd done before. Still a couple of schoolboys. "Yeah, that's it Bobby. Take it all off."

"What about you, Paul?" I asked through a fit of giggles, wine glass tilted over my lap and spilling over my thighs.

"Oh, I'm not gonna leave if it's gonna get fun." He said, throwing his hands up in a broad gesture and slapping my shoulder.

George exclaimed, "Look you might as well now, you're all covered in wine!" and pointed his finger at John who still sat at the wall and was taking a deep, almost indignant breath. "Come on, John, are you gonna help us out or are you just gonna stare at us? Let's get him buff! Put him in his pants!"

I was swept up in the mania of the fun now. The fun, or perhaps it was the dues from the nearly three glasses of wine and the joint and a half I'd burnt through in less than an hour that were all making my head run lazy circles. "Come on, John. Paul and Ringo and George all want to fuck me. You gonna- Are you gonna? You're not a loser, are you?" I drew it out. "Loooooser?"

John stood up, a narrow frown under his nose. He gets right up close to me, and before I could get out from under him his hand came around the back of my neck through my hair, his knee pushed mine aside and my glass out of my hand. In one grand movement my back hit the bed, my wine finished spilling across my chest, neck and rolled down my ribs to my navel, while my lips had been parted by another's.

A silence had hit the room like a safe squashing Wile E. Coyote, and in the grip of someone stronger, taller and bigger than me I felt as scrawny and comical as him. I moaned as I twisted under him and tried to pull my head back but was caught by the hand holding me forward. I could taste the oddly sweet, earthen tones of the marijuana on his tongue when he slipped it timidly across the fronts of my teeth. John released me after a full breath and stood back up, looking down at me like I was some kind of chick. "Well, are you tease Bob or are you gonna take your fucking clothes off?"

 

I gazed at him in a stupid haze, my mind erased like chalk on my teacher's dress hem. I was at a fork in the road, completely blanked out on choices. I couldn't stop making eye contact with him, staring up into his unblinking, laid back expression. He didn't move, flinch... he didn't even do anything or say anything. Just breathed slowly, relaxed and leaned back with his hands in his pockets. Then, without a word or even time for me to react, George at my left put his hand on my knee, with the opposite hand's fingers trailing pleasantly along my stomach over the buttons of my shirt to the topmost clasp, lingeing there a moment like he was debating in his head whether he wanted it undone or if there consequence was too great- greater than stroking his hand along my jutting collarbone, the mountain along the vallet that all my ribs appeared to be. Epstein and all my girls always said I needed to eat more. Maybe if people still paid me in burgers I would.

 

I still stared at John while George leaned in and whispered something about how turned on he'd been feeling since he'd started smoking and licked a timid tongue against my neck so lightly I didn't even feel it had been there until it turned to teeth that nipped my pale flesh with a raw, burning pleasure in my belly.

I leaned my head back, finally taking my lids down to stop that incessant staring I was doing. "Fuck." I crooned, going down onto my elbows while George finally took out that button. A second, third, fourth... until buttons became my belt buckle and my eyes shot open. John was overtop now, a hand lain upon my inner thigh, a finger or two painfully present on my crotch that I couldn't feel, but knew about. I wanted to feel the pressure of his palm against me, wanted that teasing not yet promise that he'd touch me, soon. George took my left hand and brought it to his chest where I pressed lightly, feeling his heart beating at an extreme pace, like he'd run a marathon to get here just to see my bare torso in my parted shirt. I felt a little self conscious, knowing I was lean and all my fat and muscle had been stripped down to the bare essentials. On my back like this I knew I looked like a breathing xylophone with a plethora of dark brown freckles and no body hair to even make me resemble a man. Laying like this I knew I was just like a woman, yet lacking the most pleasurable features.

 

I moved my explorative touch over George shoulder, the side of his neck and finally to his lips, sliding my middle finger along the bottom. Soft, yet firm. Like mine, and yet unfamiliar. I felt a kiss of mostly teeth and some wetness at my exposed, pointed hipbone where John had begun kissing and nipping, while his hand alternated from my inner thigh just next to where my pants were becoming uncomfortably restrictive and my stomach. I could feel it jumping with my heart and rattled nerves. I lost my collected restraint and eagerly pushed my fingertip past George's lips. He looked unsure of what he was supposed to do with it for a moment before I nodded and he seemed to understand. He sucked my fingers as John's kisses got more aggressive, a tingling, vaccumous sensation on my skin that made my cock twitch. I was nervous to ask him to take my belt off, and with a sort of dumbfounded paralyzation I wasn't up to removing it myself. As the boys worked their lips on my skin I could only think of the four taking my belt from me and choking me with it. Maybe John, he seemed like the orchestrator here, taking my hand in his lap while he choked me with my own clothes, while the four boys joined in on me all at once like scavengers at a feast.

 

I realised I had starting moaning in little whimpers like a kitten looking for milk at the thought of being taken by all four boys, like a cheap slut. I wanted to feel Paul drag his nails down my skin so hard I'd see it days from now. I wanted George to band me over the bathroom sink and fuck me while I watched him behind me spank my ass and pull my hair so I had to look at myself. I wanted Ringo to suck me off and I wanted John to spit on my back, to ride me on the bed until my face hit the pillows.

 

Finally, when my fantasy had lead me into loud, uncouth begging in swears and names, John stood up and practically moved George into position while he undressed. I realised Paul and Ringo were sitting on the bed, watching me. Both had gotten turned on, obvious by the bulge in Paul's pants that he seemed to be willing himself not to endulge, and Ringo's slight, slow movements from the under the blanket atop the bed. He seemed to have opted for discretion, while John who was now at the wall, did not. I couldn't seem him very well, but he looked... well, I wasn't still sure I wanted him fucking me. I don't think I can take it.

 

As George undid my zipper and began tugging my pants away, casting them off into the room in a pile with John's and George's own shirt, I grabbed his wrist. His hands lingered on my boxers and I looked between him and Ringo. "Don't laugh." I said, simply. I wasn't that bad, I guess, but I was surrounded by four other men to compare myself to, and John was aready bigger. I wasn't that long, I suppose, but it was thicker than John's.

George just smiled and winked at me, kissing my navel tenderly as he soothed his hands over my sides before taking them back to my underwear and removing them with a sly, cheeky coo. My cock bounced back to my stomach. It didn't exactly reach my navel or anything, but I was uncomfortably hard even through the embarassment, yet still I felt a slick wetness against my skin. Dammit. I was far too turned on by this and still I was almost fearful. I have no idea what I'm doing. I hate that feeling.

 

George grinned and looked me over for a moment, taking in every detail of my skinny, long body and lanky limbs. Every freckle that speckled my body like a dusty night sky and every bruise John's mouth had made on my sides. "You're lovely, Bob, you've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"Good enough to eat." Paul chimed, before remarking how hungry he felt all of a sudden. I was silent, but I agreed. I wished people did still pay me in burgers.

I was shaken from my hunger thoughts when a hot, sloppy mouth enclosed around me. George moaned in surprise but pushed down, my length absored in the pliable, enhanting even, embrace of his lips. I gasped and shuddered fully, rocking my hips up to the ceiling. George gagged and pulled back, bringing a hand around the base of me, squeezing tightly like he'd done to himself plenty, I'm sure. He twisted it in his palm, the saliva from his suckign spreading down to his grip easily. Every movement up he worked his hand in tandem, his tongue sliding over my skin to the tip of my cock where he lashed his tongue quickly over it. There was no hesitation in his body, no deliveration. He was moving with easy, wanton desire. His breathing paced and filtered through his nose. I didn't know what to do with my hands but to run them through his soft hair. I'd never thought about how much I'd always wanted to touch their hair as being like this. I mean, who doesn't want to touch The Beatles hair? I felt a little proud and little pompous that I got to, and I got to do it while one of them was so readily sucking me off.

 

Sudenly he stopped and in one long moan pushed my back along the bed until I was on it completely, feet on and knees around George's hips. "I want to fuck you, Bobby. I want to make you feel it."

I swallowed quite hard. I felt a surge of excitement go down to my cock, cold in the air that cooled George's spit. I looked into eyes, trying to find some sense of grounding. I felt like I was falling, twisting from high up in the air and I didn't know where I was falling. George's hands moved under my hips and pushing against my ass. I got nervous when his fingers slid down too close, but keened when they ran up, palm warm against my sack. George egged me on with teasing statements about how good I sounded while I begged him to go back to sucking me off.

 

I felt my eyes roll back when he put his hand back around me, stroking my wet cock for just a half second before I heard him spit into his palm and rub it over himself. I had my head back, almost hanging off the bed, and my eyes closed. I wasn't paying any more attention than necessary to anything but the hand around me, gripping hard and moving in twisting coils, so I didn't have any preperation for the sudden presence I felt between my thighs, pressing against my unused entrance. George had a hand around himself as he guided himself in, pushing in one rough thrust.

"Fuck!" I screamed, bending up and feeling my face, shut up like I'd bitten into lemons, press into George's shoulders. "God, fuck- George, it hurts!" I saw stars for a minute, even behind my lids.

He didn't pull out, just sat there, barely an inch inside me though it felt like miles. "Fuck, what... what do you want me to do?"

I whimpered as I thought. "I... I guess maybe I'm not ready? Ff- spit on it." I offered, gasping roughly and choking on my breath when he pulled it out. I tried to look brave in front of all four boys surrounding me like prey, but I was reeling in the shock of it. My whole lower half felt like it had suffered some horribly wrong insult.

George followed my instructions, spitting onto his length with a sound that I was suprised to find turned me on, sliding his hand down it until it was slick, even spreading some around my ass, earning a tandem moan from us both. I admitted the mixture of pain and exciting pleasure was doing something funny to me. He realigned himself below us and leaned on the hands he had on the bed beside my neck.

"Ready, love?"

I nodded after a deliberating moment. I said yes, but no. No, I was not ready. I squeezed my eyes shut and crinkled my nose, wincing before anything even happened. This time, George shoved in just as hard, going even a little deeper. I shouted again, but swallowed it halfway through and muffled my wounded protest in the back of my hand, covering my teary-eyed expression and the teeth that chewed my lip. George complained about it being too tight as he tried pulling back and pushing back in. I felt myself contort in my spine as I tried relaxing as best as I could, despite my body defying me and tightening around him anyway. I took a deep breath and forced myself to take control, let go and let him fuck me like this.

"Oh, fuck, it hurts George." I whined, trying to will my voice to sound strong, though still it came out small and childlike.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, ceasing the pace he'd just picked up.

I shook my head and muttered again how it hurt, "Don't you dare- ah fuck, God it hurts." But I loved it.

 

For all the hurt it was causing, it only took him a minute or so of panting and cold, sharp breaths against my sweat to get in far enough that something hit. It made me shiver and jerk at first find, my limbs shaking against my will, my fingers finding their way to his hair once again or gripping the bed for sanity. My mind went blank with every rock of his hips, every upwards curve in his back as he found out what was making me holler and moan like a wanton slut. I shouted his name, rolled my hips down against him, grinding my hipbones against his in an uncomfortable rhythym.

George's hand came into my hair as he pulled me up, my ass against his thighs as I came to sit in his lap. I yelped at the shifting cock that pushed to the hilt inside me. I swear I felt my organs shift. George felt it too and called out my name sweetly. "Oh, fuck, Bobby, you feel so good."

I breathed heavily, trying to ignore the lust I felt, the need to feel him fuck me harder. I wanted to beg him for hours, weeks, days even if he'd just fuck me again. I didn't even care what it was. As long as he was giving me anything. That same shameful, rotten pull of deep desire that had formed a broken knot like a bullet skein of yarn that I just wanted to unravel into one of those sweaters George looked so good in.

"Move up and down on me, Bobby. Fuck me. Fuck me, Bobby. You'd look so good."

"Oh, do it, Bobby, please. Oh, you'd look so hot." One of the other boys remarked. Their voice sounded strained and hitched, like they were trying not to get too turned on. I wondered if they had plans on sharing me with the whole room or if they' just watch and finish on their own terms. Part of me was hoping they'd wait to get their turn on me. I wanted all of it. I wanted to get used and fucked. I wanted to get used up between them all until I couldn't walk or talk.

I was unsure, my legs shaky and abused, but I tried. I put my arms around his neck, wrists overlapping while my hands went betwen limp and lifeless to clenched and figgety. I leaned up toward him, my collarbone brushing his lips as he kissed them gently with tender amusement between breaths, before plunking back down onto his folded knees. George groaned and grabbed my hips, thumbs hooking into them while his fingers left scratches on my sides where he was kneading my flesh like a kitten with impressively sharp claws.

I moved like this for a moment or two, feeling his cock fill me with every movement, my breath laboured in tune with my posting. I could practically it feel it bulging below my navel when I curved my back, felt like it was hitting my backbone when I caved it. I whined and pleaded with him as I fucked myself in his lap, legs wrapped long around his waist, toes curled in as I felt that ball of yarn getting wound tighter. I felt my cock dripping with the intense reaction of the way he was filling me up. The hurt in my ass and stomach sending throbs to my cock between our bellies, the smell of weed and cigarettes on his breath and weed on mine hanging in the air around us. His hair stuck to his forehead in the shimmering sweat that rolled into his brow. My body trembled more and more as I was struck with him inside, my body feeling nearly broken. God, I needed it. I need it. I repeated my shameful wants to myself as I moved with a rocking horse effort against him. His stomach pressed against the head of my aching cock and I thought of his lips around me, how sweet his throat felt around me, how warm and wet his mouth was.

"Fuck, George, fuck me! God- Georgie!" I shouted his name once, twice, three times more as my visions got hazy and my thoughts lost clarity. I felt my body pouring out breath, come and curses as that skein became a pile of loose, curled up yarn all around me. My brain felt just as fuzzy.

George flung me back down on the bed as I was still reeling, slick, sticky mess on his skin and mine. "Not yet, sweetheart." He said, promising another minute of the deep, thick feeling of pounding at my entrance before he, too, finally spilled into me with an exclamation in a deep, rolling voice that only cracked once. He rested there a minute, the hot, burning feeling of something new and slippery deep in my ass. I felt it coil down around him and slick up my walls until he pulled out and it dribbled down my skin. I chuckled a little when I realised it was gonna mess up the bed. If all five of us finished, how bad was this bed gonna look to the maids? George leaned down and kissed my cheeks excessively, his tongue sliding over it quickly in a way that almost turned me on right away. He kissed my nose and patted my cheek against my scrunched up eye.

"You're cute when you laugh, Bobby."


End file.
